The Perfect Gift
by costallee
Summary: In a lovely bit of Christmas fluff, Clarke draws Bellamy's name for Secret Santa and can't decide what to give him. Should she give him a weapon? Herself? Something else entirely? Cuteness ensues.


**This is pure unadulterated fluff! I kid you not. I've been writing this in stints before bed and it has been such fun. I have a couple of other one shots in the works, and potentially a longer one, so get excited! :)**

**Also a massive thank you to the people who left reviews and favorited my last story. It made me so incredibly happy, and made me want to write even more Bellarke for all y'all! I love you! **

**As per usual, I do not own these characters. I've merely kidnapped them and am forcing them to do my bidding. Thank you. **

* * *

What could she possibly give Bellamy for Christmas? That boy was an enigma, wrapped in a grumpy shell, buried beneath a pile of guns and fire. Secret Santa had seemed like a great idea at the time. It would help ease some of the winter blues, they had argued, and give those of the 100 without family on the ground - most of them - someone to celebrate with.

When she had drawn Bellamy's name from the hat she had been pleased, which came as a surprise. Clarke couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, but Bellamy Blake had become her friend. More than a friend even. Amidst all of the fighting and struggling for survival, up out of mutual respect, had grown a strong sense of trust and camaraderie. He was, she admitted to herself, one of her best friends. And she had absolutely no idea what to give him!

Clarke slumped over with a groan and buried her head in her hands. This wasn't the Ark, they were pretty much limited to something they could find, make, or trade for. None of which gave her any ideas.

She could talk to Lincoln, maybe she could commission a bow or something. She scowled into her arm, no that was a shit idea. Who gave a weapon as a Christmas gift? She couldn't carve, she wasn't a great cook, and it was the dead of winter. Going out into the woods to find some fantastic new earth object was out of the question. Besides he would have just laughed at it.

A small voice at the back of her head said she could offer herself as a gift. Her eyes grew wide at the thought, and her neck burned up in what she was sure was a bright red blush. "Let's pretend I didn't just think that."

She looked out at the camp from the window in her room on the Ark. Her eyes found him almost immediately. He cut a striking profile after all. His height, wide shoulders, and an intangible air of confidence made him hard to miss. She bit her lip distractedly as she thought.

He looked so happy talking with Octavia. It was the happiest she had seen him since… ever really. Having others in charge, although neither of them were always happy with their decisions, had taken a huge weight off of his shoulders. But it was clear in the way his eyes constantly searched out the members of the 100, like a compulsive need to know where they were at all times, that he still felt responsible for them. At least now there were others sharing that responsibility. It wasn't just the two of them trying to keep their group of teenagers alive.

Her eyes stayed glued to his smiling face, it was actually kind of cute. She felt a smile growing on her own face in spite of herself. Happiness really was contagious, and Bellamy's smile even more so. She wished she could share some of that happiness with him. An idea, a brilliant idea, struck her without warning. It was perfect, but she'd have to start now if she wanted to be done in time.

* * *

Bellamy came back from the hunt exhausted. He kneaded the muscles in his neck and shoulders trying to ease some of the tension, and lit the lamp that sat by his makeshift bed. The warm light filled his little room on what was left of the ark. It gave off a yellow glow that made the place feel less frigid and mechanical, but God how he missed his tent. It was freezing outside and the ark provided some shelter from the wind, so he didn't really have a choice. He stripped off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and crawled into bed, leaving the clothes in a messy pile on the floor. It was too early in the day, but surely a nap wouldn't hurt.

He plopped back onto his pillow and froze at an unfamiliar sound. It was almost like crumpling paper? He reached his hand under his pillow and paused when he felt it. Someone had hidden a piece of paper where he would be sure to find it. Holding it up to the dim light he turned it over and squinted at the paper. It took his brain a moment to process the picture, but when it finally hit him his eyes grew wide. He ran a shaky finger over the image, caressing it softly. It was so lifelike, so well drawn. Octavia's smile stared up at him, well, his and Octavia's smile. Was that really what he looked like when he talked to his sister? Like she was the sun?

* * *

It took him most of the evening to find her. Probably would have been faster to just ask someone, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't risk others seeing him genuinely happy. What would that do to his reputation?

Bellamy had been walking the perimeter of camp for the thousandth time, wondering if she had been stupid enough to wander outside when it was so cold, when he saw it. It was hard to be sure in the twilight, but it looked like a glint of golden hair. He could just make it out through the makeshift window on the second floor of the guard tower. God he hoped he was right.

Clarke sat tucked behind boxes of weapons and ammo confiscated during the raid on Mount Weather. She was engrossed in something, all her concentration focused on an object in her lap. A drawing? He paused just behind the box she was leaning against and peered over her shoulder.

This close to her he could see the concentration in every fiber of her body. She wasn't tense, it was more like the way a breeze concentrates on a pile of leaves, or a stream on one particular stone. The kind of concentration that doesn't rest on one thing for long, but effortlessly gives its full attention to everything in its path. If only for a moment.

"Who are you drawing now?" he asked.

She didn't jump, didn't flinch, her pencil never stopped moving.

"An old friend." He could hear the smile in her voice, and found himself smiling too. He hid it in the arm resting on the box.

"Well it looks great Princess."

Her pencil paused at the nickname, but continued after a beat as if nothing had happened.

"What are you doing up here anyway?" he continued.

She turned her head towards him, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Hiding." She smirked, "you?"

"Same." He lied and came around to sit next to her. "Feels nice to let someone else be in charge for a change doesn't it." He bumped his knee against hers.

She scoffed, "Sure. I mean yeah I guess." She looked down at her paper, a small crease between her brows. It was Wells he realized with a pang. That was her old friend.

"It is nice to know that we're safe, or safer than we've been in a long while." She glanced at him, "And I'm happy to not have to worry about everyone. I could do without the rules, but it's nice I guess."

Her eyes drifted down to the paper in his hands.

"Ah," she smiled, "I see you found your gift."

She looked almost nervous, he thought. It looked strange on her, wrong. Like a deer with two heads.

"Clarke, this is amazing. I don't know how to thank you - I mean I've never - I finally have a picture of my family. Do you know how much this means to me?"

He smiled at her with such warmth, his eyes so soft, so awed, it gave her courage. She hesitated for one more moment, then took a deep breath.

"It's actually just the first gift." He raised one eyebrow.

"I started planning out what I could draw for your gift, and the ideas kept coming," she pulled her bag up onto her lap and reached into it, "they kept coming, and I kept drawing, and… well… you'll see."

With a small crooked smile she held out a package. He took it carefully, his eyes questioning her, but she merely gestured to the package. Inside was a small book wrapped in what looked like animal hide.

"It's not much" she interjected, "just sketches really…"

He opened the book and flipped through it reverently. Each page was filled with drawings. Some pages had one drawing which filled the entire space, others were covered in many smaller drawings. There were drawings of Octavia, lots of them actually. She had captured her doing different tasks around camp, smiling with Lincoln, talking to others. There were drawings of Jasper and Monty, Miller, other members of the 100. His kids.

Around half way through the book, one face began to take over. She had drawn it so many times, he could feel a blush creeping up his neck the longer he looked at them. She had drawn him. Him! There he was working, laughing, smiling, yelling at someone. She had captured him and nearly all of his expressions. There were even several of him asleep, drawn very carefully from the look of it.

It was one portrait in particular that made him pause. She had drawn him smiling at someone off of the page. It was clear just from the line quality that she had spent more time and care on this one picture than any of the others. His eyes in particular had been rendered in precise detail. He thought of himself as a harsh person. He was stern, a leader, but his eyes in this picture were soft and kind. They were the eyes of someone staring at a person they loved, and he was fairly certain he knew who had caught his attention.

He closed the book slowly, careful not to smudge any of the drawings or wrinkle the pages. He set it down next to him and turned his full attention on the girl sitting beside him.

She had been watching him with trepidation, her fingers fidgeting with imaginary specks of dirt on her pants.

"Princess-"

"Please Bell," she interrupted, pleading "don't, please don't call me that."

He drew back slightly, struck by how much it stung.

"No, gods no Bell. Sorry," her small calloused hand reached out and cupped his face, her thumb stroked his cheek. Her other hand reached up and lifted his face gently, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"I used to love being called Pri-… that. It felt like home, especially when you said it. But Finn… his last words-"

He nodded, understanding without her needing to finish. Now that he was staring into her eyes, it was impossible to look away. They drew him in and wouldn't let him go. They were ice, they were a cloudless sky, they were a vicious storm, they were hers.

"Clarke." He said it like a caress. "I guess that will do for now." He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He smirked, "Or I could come up with something new. My Queen? Oh Commander my commander. I could call you Warrior Maiden or-"

"Shut up Bellamy." She laughed breathily. He opened his mouth to keep teasing, but then her lips were on his, soft and unsure.

He responded immediately, smiling into the kiss, drawing her lower lip in. That was all the affirmation she needed. She buried her hands into his hair and kissed him back with more urgency, nibbling at his bottom lip before drawing back for a breath.

God he smelled good, she thought. Like woods and campfires and gunpowder. And oh shit what he could do with his mouth, what he _was_ doing with it to her neck. Every nerve in her body felt alive, on fire. His fingers drifted down from her cheeks, ghosting across her arms and back up again, leaving a trail of tingling skin and goosebumps in their wake. His hands wandered until they ended up at the hem of her shirt, but she pulled back. He let out a barely suppressed groan, and she smirked wickedly.

"Merry Christmas Bellamy Blake." Then she lifted her shirt over her head, and… well. Who can blame them for what happened next?

* * *

**Ok I know it's cruel to cut it off there, I KNOW. But I'm not ready to write straight up smut _yet_, so this is all you're going to get for now. :) I hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you thought in the comments as it makes my life! And Merry Belated Christmas to you all! **


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